


Macabre Masterpiece

by frnkscellabration (ylimeelizabeth)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Murderer, Murderers, One Shot, Serial Killer Gerard, Serial Killers, killer, teenage frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:26:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylimeelizabeth/pseuds/frnkscellabration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is a serial killer with a taste for blood and Frank is unlike any boy he's ever met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macabre Masterpiece

The basement lighting was dim and yellow, concentrated mostly on the feature wall of an assortment of tools: screwdrivers, hammers, chisels, pliers... all the toolbox standards. Scattered across the rotting wooden desk that was situated in front of the wall were some of the more recently used ones, mostly knives of various shapes and sizes. Knives were his favourite, he enjoyed nothing more than experimenting with the different blades, discovering their personalities and the art that could be created with them. In the darker corners of the room, where the light didn't quite reach, hid stained walls and piles of blood soaked clothing, with decomposing animal corpses thrown into the mix. Prime examples of the art that was conceived through the use of his beloved knives. There was also a distinct odour to the crypt of horrors, the standard musty basement smell mixed with the coppery scent of dried blood, which is generally not a pleasant smell, but whenever he inhaled the cool air, he felt at home. To him, the scent was calming and reminiscent of the many exhilarating nights he'd experienced, the ones shared with his only true friends: the knives that he had grown oh so fond of.

Should anyone close to him find out about his secret passion, about who he really was, they would be without a doubt shocked. How could this monster of a man be the same Gerard Way who had once upon a time worn green tights and performed in a Peter Pan musical for his school drama club? If you asked Gerard, the answer was quite simple: how could anyone expect a child to be brought up in a town that was best known for it's horrific murder scene and not end up a little demented himself? From the day he was born he was exposed to tales of murder, rape and abuse. He'd always been fascinated by the darker things in life, including but not limited to horror films, Fangoria magazine and most importantly, the stories that made headlines almost daily in his messed up little hometown. Whenever Gerard heard about another body being pulled out of the lake that happened to be right around the corner from his house, his mind went wild, creating a different story for each victim and their butcher, reliving the crimes (accurate or not to the real events) in his daydreams. This was what he was destined to become right from the moment he was brought into the world. A murderer.

He stood before his array of weapons, pondering which one would be his accomplice for tonight's adventure. His fingers danced over the heads of hammers, which were not his favourite, but nonetheless had their redeeming qualities. He particularly liked the sound of his victim's bones breaking under the impact of being hit with them, but the artwork created by them wasn't all that interesting, it always looked the same. Next he traced down the shank of a screwdriver, lingering for a moment when he reached the tip and applying a little bit of pressure, not enough to break his skin but enough for him to feel the numb pain that is inflicted when one is stabbed with this tool. He continued this process for every apparatus available to him, but no matter how much he wanted shake things up a little and use something new, he felt himself being drawn right back to his old friend, the simple kitchen knife that had been his weapon of choice the very first time he'd killed. Sure it was basic and not very creative, but he'd painted his first masterpiece with this blade. He liked the clean, precise strokes and the patterns formed from the resulting splatter of beautiful, glistening, ruby red blood. As he took the knife into his hand, the weight felt right, comfortable. He knew this was what he needed to use tonight. This was going to be a special one, though he couldn't pinpoint how or why, the adrenaline pumping through his veins, making him feel like a schoolgirl in the moments leading up to her first kiss, told him tonight would be special. 

Unlike most other times he'd given into his sick little fantasies, this time he had no real plan. He just knew that he wanted... that he needed to kill. Usually he would have a victim lined up for days, sometimes even weeks, whether it was someone he knew personally, or someone he'd seen on the street and decided was appealing to him, then stalked and evaluated over a period of time to plan the perfect murder. But tonight, there was no planning involved. Tonight he would just go out, pick a target and shoot. Okay, maybe not shoot. Guns were one thing Gerard was absolutely not fond of. Sure they produced some beautiful artwork, but he felt that the connection between murderer and victim was lost with the use of a gun. There was something a lot less intimate about a gunshot, and that intimacy was one of the things he craved the most. 

Gerard took his chosen weapon to the other side of the room and placed it carefully on a desk that was slightly less rotted than the one it had previously been resting on. The only other thing on this desk was a record player, which he proceeded to turn on. A good soundtrack was another key to setting his mood for a perfect murder, today's record: The Birds, The Bees and The Monkees. Something about the contrast between the sinister act he was preparing for, and the cheerful music produced by the Monkees made the evening more thrilling. Now all he needed to do was change out of his fraying, blue jeans and Anthrax t-shirt, (which was something he'd just nicked off his brother Mikey, cause everyone knows that serial killers don't listen to rock music) and into his go-to murder get up, a simple black hoodie, black jeans and black leather boots, he'd sanded the soles to remove the print, which in his opinion, was genius. One thing Gerard was not a fan of was gloves, part of his thirst could only be quenched by seeing his large, strong hands lathered in what was once the life of another human being. Sure, it made the risks that were associated with being a serial killer much higher, but it was a risk he was willing to take, a risk he almost had to take.  
He allowed the record to keep playing as he made his way up the stony basement stairs, leaving behind the sinisterly happy tunes and closing the door that concealed all his deepest and darkest secrets. 

He stepped out into the cool, autumn night and inhaled deeply, his lungs thanked him for the clean air, a welcome relief from the rancid smell of his basement. The sky was full of dark clouds that threatened to burst at any moment and shower the town with their contents. It was around 11pm and the streets were bare. Any sane person knew that it wasn't safe to be outside any time past 8 in Belleville, anyone that fell victim to Gerard Way tonight was someone who deserved it, because hey, they were stupid enough to be out and about so late in a town where it was considered a miracle if your kid didn't get abducted on their way to school. Concealing the knife in the spacious pocket on the front of his hoodie, he walked down the street, migrating towards the city centre, he figured his best bet for finding his victim would be to linger around in the alley behind the single pub in the town. Anyone around was most likely to be inside the pub, with no one daring to venture out into the poorly lit alley, but he just had another one of those feelings that this was where he would make tonight's kill.  
He kept to the shadows as he neared the building, not in fear that a potential victim would see him and make a run for it, but in case there was another psychopath like him prowling the streets, which was a real possibility no matter how unlikely it may sound. Being the one to get knifed would really spoil his plans. Once he'd reached the entrance to the alley, he pressed himself against the grubby pub wall and craned his neck around the corner, careful not to expose himself too much in the case that someone was standing around it, looking in his direction. Much to his relief there was no one there yet, giving him the perfect opportunity to creep over to the dumpster that was conveniently situated halfway down the alley, providing the perfect hiding place for him to wait for and observe his prey.  
The stench emitting from the trash was so foul, and so familiar to Gerard. It wouldn't have surprised him if he'd read in the news in a few days about a corpse being found in there. It made him feel kind of second rate to know that this place had been a brutal crime scene probably only a couple nights previous to this one, he wanted nothing more than to be able to get creative with his location, with the entire composition of the murders he carried out, but in a town like Belleville he had no chance. 

He'd been crouched down, peering around from behind what was essentially a grave for about fifteen minutes and the muscles in his feet and leg were starting to cramp up. 'Come on' he thought to himself, or to any God that might be tuning into his thoughts, 'Give me something to play with.'  
No thirty seconds after the impatient thoughts crossed him mind were his prayers answered. The sound of a heavy metal door being swung open pierced the silence.  
“Get out you disgusting whore.” A gruff voice echoed through the alley, followed by the groans of who Gerard assumed was the 'disgusting whore' in question as she was shoved out of the building with such force that she fell to the ground. For a few moments after the door was slammed shut behind her, she sat in silence, staring at the ground, completely unaware that she was being observed by the very man who would soon be the one to draw the final breath of life from her body. When she finally got back to her feet, she made herself busy with adjusting her hair and her miniskirt, which had shifted out of place and was not leaving very much to the imagination. But honestly there was so little material in the skirt that even after she'd repositioned it, she was still less than decent. Something that particularly struck him about her was how incredibly thin she was. Probably the result of excessive drug use. Sticking a knife into her would result in nothing but getting the blade stuck in her bones, there was no meat on her at all, nothing he could work with to create a macabre masterpiece. What the fuck was he supposed to do with this canvas? He was experiencing emotions of defeat and annoyance, pondering just leaving and trying another location, but then she turned and what he saw ignited sparks in his brain. As she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, her bony hands shaking, he noticed the way the tendons and veins in her neck protruded more significantly than any he'd ever seen before. He imagined what it would be like to cut them, he'd never slit someone's throat before, but he knew the resulting spray of blood was astonishing. If he did it just right, he could paint the alley crimson. 

His usual method of attack was to sneak up on his victims and knife them before they even knew he was there, most times aiming for the stomach. The once silver apparatus now glistening red. In, out, in, out, in out. Over and over again. His steady hands gripping the handle, feeling the warm liquid as it runs free from the fleshy cage it had coursed through for a lifetime. But that wouldn't work this time. He had to be more tactful, and knowing this is what caused him to do something he'd never done in his entire career as a blood thirsty creature of the night. He arose from his hiding spot and walked up to the woman, hands buried deep in his pocket, wrapped around the knife. Upon discovering his presence the woman was of course startled, she'd been under the impression that she was alone in this alley.  
“Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me.” She exclaimed, a puff of smoke escape her lips as they formed the words, “What were you doing behind that dumpster?”  
Luckily for Gerard, he was quick on his toes with a believable response, “I got spooked when I heard the commotion and ran for cover, I thought there was gonna be bloodshed.”  
She chuckled at his answer, completely unaware that Gerard in fact knew there would be bloodshed, and he would be the one responsible for it.  
“Want a fag?” She offered, pulling a slightly misshaped cigarette from the waistband of her skirt.  
An invitation to step closer towards her, this was his chance. He fingered the handle of the knife, getting a good grip and angling it ready to make a clean swipe at her throat.  
“Yeah thanks.” He replied calmly, he took a few steps to fill the distance between them, and before another word could be uttered, pulled the knife from his pocket and didn't hesitate to drag it across her neck, making sure to apply enough pressure to sever the arteries, and boy was it beautiful. His victim shook violently, a slight gurgling sound emitting from her throat as the life drained from her body. She was collapsing to her knees, but Gerard supported her, not wanting to let a single drop of the blood he was being showered with go to waste. The way the fluid projected from the gaping wound, splattering the surroundings and leaving pretty patterns everywhere had him hypnotized. He felt alive as the warm red trickled down his face, and when it reached his lips he couldn't help but stick his tongue out for a little taste, the colour smearing his teeth, giving him a vampy smile. He'd never felt so powerful. When the shower of blood calmed down to a slight stream, he allowed her to drop to the ground. He casually wiped the blade off on his pants as he strolled back down the alley en route to his home. Not having to worry about anyone seeing him, it was well after midnight now, the chances of a good civilian being out now were almost non existent. 

The autumn breeze kissed the warm blood that he was wearing as a second skin, an odd yet pleasant contrast. He ran his fingers through his hair, too push back the blood soaked hair that was glued to his face and obstructing his vision, then looked down at his painted crimson hands, which were shaking with adrenaline. The twenty minute walk home was bliss, a chance to reflect on his achievement. Once he was inside, he went straight the bathroom to admire himself in the mirror, because as a result of the blood rain, Gerard was now a piece of artwork. Upon seeing his reflection, he couldn't help but smile in sinister pride. His once clear, pale skin was now marked with a vibrant splash of glistening red. His long black hair plastered to his neck and sides of his face, with trails of blood dripping down, disappearing underneath the neckline of his hoodie. When he smiled, he looked like a character pulled straight out of Bram Stoker's Dracula, something else he'd been obsessed with during his teen years.  
After a moment of appreciating himself as art, he realized his clothing was so heavily soaked with blood that it was dripping to the ground, forming a pool at his feet. He sighed and pulled the hoodie over his head, smearing the bloody patterns on his face so they were nothing but a red smudge, ruining the masterpiece. He tossed it into the bathtub, it could be dealt with later. As he turned the faucet on the basin to began cleaning himself up, he swore he heard a creak coming from the hall. He paused for a moment, stopping the flow of water to listen more carefully for another sound. He was certain he heard something, and he couldn't put it down to the house making noises itself, his house didn't do that, his house knew it held deep secrets and was to keep itself quiet and unnoticed. Even when he didn't hear a second creak, or any sound at all for that matter, he wasn't convinced he'd imagined it. He went to the bathroom door and peered down the dark hallway, but it was too poorly lit to make out if there was anything there, he'd have to turn on the light. Gerard hated his home being too well lit, he much preferred living in the darkness. He left the bathroom in annoyance to find the light switch and flicked it on, illuminating the usually pitch black hall and exposing his intruder.  
“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?” Gerard demanded, shocked to see a teenage boy pressed against the wall at the other end of the hall, staring at him wide eyed.  
“I-i-i ….” The boy stammered.  
“Spit it out before I kill you.” Gerard threatened, and much to his surprise, his words didn't seem to scare the boy at all.  
“I know you'll kill me. It's what you do.” He replied calmly.  
Gerard scrunched his nose in confusion, the young boy's response was not at all what he expected, “What did you just say?”  
“It's what you do. You're a killer. I watched you murder that prostitute.” He was no longer trying to blend in with the wall, but rather drawing nearer to Gerard ever so slowly.  
“You saw that happen? And you followed me? Now what made you think following a killer home would be a good idea?” He didn't want to admit it, to himself or anyone else, but Gerard was intrigued with this boy, it wasn't often you met someone who decided to knowingly invite themselves into the home of someone they'd just seen slit a helpless woman's throat.  
“I never said I thought it was a good idea. “ He continued to slowly fill the distance between him and the older man, “Anyone in their right mind knows nothing good can come out of letting yourself alone with a murderer.”  
“You must not be in your right mind then.” Gerard hadn't noticed, but throughout the exchange he was subconsciously moving towards the boy as well, they were now so close they were almost touching.  
“I must not be.” He breathed, and damn, if it weren't for this boys tiny stature, he would have breathed those words right in Gerard's face.  
Gerard stared into the boy's round, hazel eyes, he could see a familiarity in them... he could see himself in them. The same glistening hunger that he saw in his own eyes every time he took that final glance in the mirror right before going out to make a kill. “What's your name?”  
“Frank.”  
“What did you expect you were going to get when you made the decision to enter my home, Frank?”  
“Whatever it is you happened to give me.” Frank replied simply. And that was all Gerard needed to hear. He grabbed the younger boy by his shirt and shoved him against the wall, pinning him there like he was one of his tools featured in the basement. He leaned into his neck, inhaling his scent and grazing his lips up along it, until he reached his ear, “Are you scared?” He whispered into it.  
“No.” His answer was instant and true, Gerard smiled and reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out the same knife Frank had seen him create art with earlier that night. He pressed his nose against Frank's and held the blade to his throat, “How about now?” He breathed into his mouth, he awaited another 'no' but none came, instead Frank answered by pressing his lips forcefully against Gerard's, not holding anything back, the same passion and fire that Gerard invested into his murders, Frank was now conveying through this kiss, but he stopped with Gerard's bottom lip between his teeth. “Does that answer your question?” He hissed through clenched teeth, Gerard felt the words as air against his lip as they were spoken, Frank was biting so hard he thought the skin might break at any moment. He didn't wait for a response before continuing to kiss him with the same force as before, Gerard savouring in the taste of his lips and the piercing that resided on them. Gerard grazed his neck with the side of the knife, hearing Frank whimper in a mixture of pleasure and fear, which he may have denied he had but it was definitely present and Gerard was going to test it. He released his grip on Frank's shirt, no longer pinning him against the wall and instead slid both hands, knife in palm, slowly down the sides of his torso till he reached the hem of his t-shirt. He felt Frank tense a little as he moved in underneath, tracing his bare skin with the fingertips of his left hand, and the tip of the knife he held in his right. He broke away from Frank's lips and placed his own on his neck instead, concentrating his tongue more in areas where his bloody hands had left stains, blood tasted a little different when it was dry and mixed with the flavour of Frank's skin.  
“I want to taste it.” Frank said between his moans, voice shaking and breathy, he stuck his own hand under his shirt and interlocked fingers with Gerard, bringing them up to meet his lips. For the initial taste, he ran his tongue from the bottom of his index finger, up to the tip before proceeding to take the whole thing into his mouth, closing his lips around it and massaging it with his tongue as he pulled it slowly back out and moved onto the next finger. All the while, Gerard was still teasing his ribs with the tip of the knife, lightly enough so it didn't cause any harm, but also with enough pressure so Frank could feel a sharp tickle and get a sense of the control Gerard had over him, get a sense of what he was capable of doing to him if he chose to. Frank loved the thrill and Gerard loved the power trip, it was a win-win situation and a match made in heaven... or perhaps hell, in this case.  
“How do you like it?” Gerard queried as Frank began cleaning up the third finger. The younger boy stopped sucking for a moment and closed his eyes, swirling the taste around in his mouth trying to find the right words, because honestly, he hated the taste, but he couldn't tell Gerard that. Instead, he opted for answering the question with a question, “Do you always taste your victims?”  
This caused Gerard to stop all of his touching and teasing and take a step back to look Frank directly in the eye, “Yes.” He replied after a short, thoughtful pause, “Everyone has their own unique flavour, think of the human race as an ice cream parlour, so many different kinds to try... and I am the little kid who must sample them all.”  
Frank was listening intently, watching the life that was in Gerard's eyes as he spoke about one of the things that meant the most to him. Despite it being grotesque and horrific, there was something beautiful and intriguing about his passion and how he wasn't afraid to give in to it.  
“Do you want to find out what my flavour is like?” The question slip through Frank's lips, right over the metal ring and into Gerard's ears before Frank even had time to think about it and the consequences he might face for asking it. At this point, nothing Frank could say would surprise Gerard, he'd already evaluated that he was no ordinary kid.  
“I told you I taste my victims, Frank.” He reminded him, testing the extent of his clear insanity. Not like he wasn't ecstatic at the invitation to sample his blood, in fact he wanted that more than anything and he didn't quite know why. He'd known this boy all of fifteen minutes and he already felt a connection with him deeper than he thought he would ever be capable of feeling with anyone.  
“I'm aware of what you said, and I want you to taste me. I want you to make me your victim.” He was holding Gerard's freshly licked clean hand and staring straight into his eyes, he meant every single word. He was offering himself up as Gerard's next piece of art. However, Gerard knew from the moment his lips had touched Frank's that he did not want to kill him. He wanted him in his life. He needed him in his life, and that scared him more than anything. He'd never needed anyone before, but somehow this tiny punk kid was special.  
“Okay.” Gerard whispered after a moment of thought. “You're my next victim.” He looked into Frank's round, hazel eyes, searching for any sign of him retracting his decision, but he found none. He took his hand and pressed the blade of the knife to it before dragging straight across the palm, feeling the flesh tear open and watching the first drops of blood pour out. Frank was biting his lip in an attempt to suppress his groans of pain and his eyes were shut tight. The cut was deep and went the entire diameter of his palm, Gerard wasted no time in touching his lips to the gash and lapping up the warm crimson that streamed from it. He by far had the nicest flavour of all the people Gerard had tasted. He closed his eyes and savoured it, feasting from the wound in such a way it was almost as though he was making love to it, gently but with passion.  
“I guess it mustn't be too bad then.” Frank chuckled, he'd been watching Gerard with admiration for over a minute as he drank from his hand. His words snapped Gerard out of his blood crazy trance, and he shifted his focus from Frank's palm to Frank's lips, sharing the taste with him and experiencing a new one himself; the flavour of Frank's blood mixed with Frank's saliva. Their tongues danced around each other and their teeth grazed each other's lips. Gerard never wanted this embrace to end, he was hooked on Frank's taste. He was hooked on everything about Frank. But Frank pushed him away.  
“I didn't know getting to make out with you was part of the deal of being your victim.” He half questioned, half stated. Gerard didn't know what to say. If he killed Frank, he would certainly lose him forever. If he didn't kill Frank, he still risked losing him because Gerard would be showing weakness and weakness didn't seem to be something Frank was attracted to.  
“Do you really want me to kill you, Frank?” His tone was soft and his voice trembled slightly and Frank noticed. He furrowed his brow in confusion and concern, “I thought you wanted to kill me. You said yourself, you taste your victims.” He studied Gerard's face, trying to read his thoughts based off his expression.  
“Yes, I did say that.” He'd been looking at the ground the whole time, but in an instant his gazed shifted up and there was a new hunger in his eyes, one that was seldom there, but when it was it burned intensely. He pocketed the knife and grabbed Frank by the waist, picking him up effortlessly and thrusting him against the wall. Frank automatically wrapped his legs around Gerard helping him to stabilize their position. Gerard laid into Frank's neck, sucking and biting while Frank grasped and pulled at Gerard's long, black hair, getting dried blood under his fingernails in the process.  
“I do want you to be my victim, Frank.” He stopped marking his neck and pressed their noses together, “Just not that kind of victim.” As soon as the words left his mouth he heard a loud clap of thunder and the sound of heavy rain hitting the roof followed almost instantly. He closed his eyes and thanked any higher power that may have made that happen, now he didn’t have to worry about his finger prints being all over the prostitute he dumped in the alley.  
“I think I'm okay with that.” Frank broke his train of thought, and without hesitation Gerard secured his grip on Frank and carried him off down the hall, their lips working together messily as Gerard kicked the bedroom door shut behind them.


End file.
